Sonnet 50. To the Rise of the Medway
Thou rural source of Medway's silent stream!
How oft by Eve's grey light I rove along
Thy winding banks, and hear the mingled song
Of warblers, grateful to the poet's dream!
Let others choose a more ambitious theme,
Proud waves, that hear the quick impatient throng
Of noisy trade, and pompous spires prolong,
That dance beneath the sun's reflected beam.
Fit subject thou for one, whose feeling soul,
Far too refin'd for loud tumultuous joys,
Those empty pleasures of the vulgar great,
But asks for days, that calm and silent roll
Like thee, while no rude gust of grief annoys
His simple course, a low but happy state!
How oft by Eve's grey light I rove along
Thy winding banks, and hear the mingled song
Of warblers, grateful to the poet's dream!
Let others choose a more ambitious theme,
Proud waves, that hear the quick impatient throng
Of noisy trade, and pompous spires prolong,
That dance beneath the sun's reflected beam.
Fit subject thou for one, whose feeling soul,
Far too refin'd for loud tumultuous joys,
Those empty pleasures of the vulgar great,
But asks for days, that calm and silent roll
Like thee, while no rude gust of grief annoys
His simple course, a low but happy state!
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